Like Something Out of Nature
by Lunita Lunera
Summary: Summer, 1977. Two friends, Remus Lupin and Lily Evans, discuss cabbages and kings to wear out a long lunch hour, and end up discovering things about each other’s lives that neither had had a chance to glean before. Oneshot.


**Disclaimer**: Characters and settings belong to Miss Joanne Rowling—any and all that you recognize, at least!

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A flaming red head of hair bobbed its way down the bustling straight of Diagon Alley, unaware that it was being followed from a respectable distance by a cloaked youth in half-Muggle attire. It was a dusty day in the first week of August and the rush for school goods had begun; the dirt kicked up from the heels of the competitive swarm of spenders clouded one's vision in the blinding noontime sun.

He had spotted the familiar head as it passed him near Gringotts, and pursued it for a hundred yards until it finally came into to a clearing, giving him a glimpse at a figure in a sequined green top and platform sandals that was quite unmistakable. "Lily Evans!" he called, before the undulating wave of people could swallow her again. The girl spun around at the sound of her name and surveyed the crowd for the speaker.

"Remus!"

As soon as she spotted him, an ordinary-looking face in an eclectic assembly, she darted up and rather surprised him by catching him a brief hug. "I _thought_ I saw you at the bookstore!" she said, using her free hand to brush off the powder she had transferred from her dust-collecting top onto his immaculate cloak. Then she looked around as though prepared for an ambush and seemed puzzled when it did not come. "What, alone today?"

"For now, at least," he answered. He had come South with his mother by an early train, for she had a meeting in London to attend and the trip coincided propitiously with the lunar calendar. He had spent the morning hunting down various items on an interminable list of school supplies, and hoped to get together with his city-dwelling friends sometime in the afternoon.

"So my envy-inducing display was wasted?" The tide had converged around them, so they shuffled to the side of the street, where the vendors peddled from the comfort of their shaded stalls and the traffic was in better order because the sidewalk was rougher.

"Not wasted," he said, looking down, with a bit more color in his face than before. She looked, too, and noticed that her shoe had come undone.

"You're always so sweet!" she said, adding to his embarrassment, but failing to notice as she bent to fasten the strap. He had collected himself when she bounced back up, saying, "Thanks, by the way; I might've tripped."

"How are you?" he asked, thinking she looked well and happy. Lily showed remarkably little fatigue after a morning of consumer toiling. Aside from the soft suffusion of hot color in her cheeks and the dusty state of her clothing, there was no outward evidence of exertion but a heavy armful of bags and parcels.

"Splendid! And you?"

"Well, thank you." She did not look entirely convinced, so he elaborated, "Recovering from a bout of ill, but still well."

"Poor you! You're always getting sick. Dreadful thing to happen in the summer."

A burning blast of malodorous exhaust erupted nearby from the booth of an Herbs and Spice vendor.

"No escaping it, unfortunately," coughing in the hot and smelly cloud that engulfed them. They abandoned their hideaway, reminded of why fewer patrons tended to pass where they had stopped, and reluctantly reassimilated with the throng.

"I'd have thought you'd just get tired of it and stop," said Lily, fanning herself, for the exhaust had upset her internal thermostat. That was his way, after all. It was a marvel to her that he could stand there so comfortably in a cloak, as though he had flipped a switch and could not feel the heat. Even in her weightless costume she felt hot.

"I wish!" he said, amused. He wondered vaguely how someone could know him so well without knowing the secret that had shaped his life. He wondered, too, whether she would ever guess; half of him wanted her to know, but the other half dreaded what her reaction might be. Lily, who fancied that she understood him entirely and was enjoying the novelty of having caught him fairly and exposed a trifling folly, was grinning up at him with amusement dancing all over her face. Could he expect _anyone_ to react the way he hoped she would? The thought worried him, so he quickly cast around for some safer subject for discussion. "Do you have your new books, too? I just finished with my shopping."

"Mum just popped off to Malkin's for a new set of dressy robes; after that I think I'm done."

"And why are you not with her?"

"Because I was meant to see you, silly! Fate intervened."

"I would have thought you would prefer to be gussied up than fraternizing with the likes of me."

"Deceive yourself," she said in a low voice. "I get embarrassed being measured and 'gussied up' like that. Mum bought a tape measure last time we visited here and she took it off for me."

"Are you going to tell me what your occasion is for buying new dress robes?" Dress robes were not standard wear but could be tailored to be suitable for routine occasions. Remus himself had a set that he liked for casual parties, made of a silvery slate silk, and sewn according to the design of normal robes. Quality was all in the attention to detail, as he well knew.

"Well, I just want something nicer for any ceremonies because—I got my letter and—I'm Head Girl!" With a graceful motion she pulled a shining golden badge from her bag.

"So I heard," he said, with a smile, admiring but unsurprised. Lily's eagerness deflated at once.

"He told you?"

Remus nodded.

"I hoped— oh, I hoped it would be you, Remus, and I told my friends so, too! But it wasn't three minutes after the school owl took off that his came zooming in, congratulating me and going on about how excited he was for us both." Lily threw her free hand in the air with such an exasperated expression that a laugh escaped her friend. She smiled in spite of herself, adding, petulantly, "Couldn't he have let me enjoy myself a bit longer before dampening my spirits like that? Three minutes!"

"Let's be fair, Lily. He demonstrated great self-control there; he had to wait a week before he could tell you."

"How did _he_ know?"

"Dumbledore told him himself at a dinner party. I had to put up with a week's worth of letters wherein he expended all the thrill he had not already vented to Sirius. He got the brunt of it— bought his own house because it was driving him mad."

Lily laughed, and then grew pensive. "Figures," she sighed, at length, fingering the letters on the badge thoughtfully. "Remus," she said after a moment. "Don't you-- weren't you a bit… disappointed?"

"I am not jealous of James. He has been a good friend to me and I am glad for him in all his successes."

"But wouldn't it have been nice if it was you and me? I mean… You're a Prefect and everything. I wanted Dumbledore to choose a Gryffindor, of course, but I wanted it to be you."

"I trust Dumbledore's judgment," he said in return. She nodded bracingly and returned the badge to her pocket, reflecting for a moment on the impudent face of the bearer of its pair. When she looked up her attitude was cheerful again. "Why don't we have a bite to eat? I'm famished."

"I suppose this means I am paying?"

"I come with a catching up fee," she joked, starting off. She walked directly past Florean Fortescue's, which was packed and had a long line trailing from the counter. "Approximate to the price of the meal."

"A bargain," he said, following her, feeling lighthearted himself. He asked where they were going; she said she wanted to go to Bonzo's, because the lunch menu at the Leaky Cauldron did not quite suit her taste (nor the crowd, for that matter). So they set off for the elf-run luncheon establishment, a favorite with students for its cheap and extensive menu, where you could always be sure to find old favorites with surprising new twists.

"It looks like you've been doing some clothes shopping yourself, Mr. Lupin." Lily eyed a neatly wrapped parcel hidden inside a gilt and tasseled bag beneath a profusion of tissue paper with great interest. "Twilfitt and Tattings!"

"My Mum made me accompany her there earlier, last month, to put in an order for graduation robes."

"Nobody shops there but the Black snots and that Lucius Malfoy. I mean-- not Sirius, of course!" she added quickly, but Remus walked on unperturbed.

"He does now."

"What do you mean?"

"His uncle left him an inheritance and now he can afford to again."

Lily rolled her eyes. "Yes, as though he couldn't before."

"No, no. He just would not. Bad childhood memories and whatnot-- but now that he has extra funds to waste on tricks he wanted to shock the system by showing up in grand style and ordering robes in scarlet and gold."

"I don't understand."

"His mother's friend is a seamstress there and he knew it'd get back to her," Lily still looked rather mystified, so Remus went on, "Mrs. Black is an illogical woman sometimes and… never quite got over the shock of her son landing in Gryffindor."

"Oh, poor Sirius," said Lily, surprised. Her perplexed look had melted away into one of brief pity. "They're not very close, then?"

"Well… not as close as she and Regulus are," explained Remus. He felt a bit awkward talking about his friend's private concerns, so as they reached the restaurant, he added, as though in afterthought, "But she imparted to him a sense of grand style and appreciativeness of quality."

"Snobbishness, you mean," she scoffed. The focus of the conversation had shifted. "And you're not exempt, either. Your parents spoil you, Remus."

Remus smiled vaguely at this comment and Lily had to wait a moment for an answer, as her friend stepped forward to speak with the woman at the reservations booth. A tiny, green-skinned waitress appeared at her side to lead them to their table—Remus hung back so Lily could catch up, for the spry little elf was already ten paces ahead of them, bidding them down a long aisle of occupied tables to an empty one near the window.

"I prefer to think of it as an excess of parental love," he said at last.

"Call it what you like; they dote."

"I think they blame themselves for my-- eccentricities, and try to make up for it this way."

"Everyone wants their heroes to be slightly oddball, so it's good you fit the bill."

"Oddball," repeated Remus, with an appreciative laugh.

"Mysterious," Lily clarified. "But you're just a genius."

"I fear Professor Slughorn would not agree."

"Sluggy can be an idiot, and he is about you," she said, allowing Remus to take her parcels from her and arrange them under their table. She slid into her seat and regarded him affectionately as he shrugged off his cloak and draped it neatly over the back of his chair. He was not particularly handsome, she thought, having average features that blended more than they stood out. His eyes were light brown, his hair but a shade darker, and his eyelashes, though long, were not immediately noticeable against his eyelids. Yet there was something harmonious and pleasing about his appearance, like something out of nature, unassuming but impressive. There was steadfastness and intelligence written in every aspect of his face.

Remus looked up and caught her staring—he met her gaze openly and honestly, and smiled his kind smile. There was empathy there, too—he always smiled at one as though he understood them. She used to often wonder what he had suffered to give him that wisdom of compassion. She had not known him a week before she decided that she preferred his warmth and concern over the confidence and proud splendor of his best friends.

"Professor Slughorn knows quality when he sees it," said Remus, proudly.

"I'll _never_ forgive him for hinting that I ought to invite James over you to his Christmas party last year."

"Lily!"

"I'm only joking, Remus. I can say what I like to him, he doesn't mind; and it _was_ obnoxious of him, as though you were any less valuable than your friends just because Potions doesn't suit you." She looked down at the cuff of her blouse and tweaked it straight, quickly tugging it away when the flared fabric fell across her friend's hands. She noticed how strong his hand was as it rested against the smooth mahogany table; she knew, too, how gentle they could be, having been comforted by him once only a few weeks before, when news had reached her of her father's hospitalization. The memory agitated her all the more, jumbling other emotions into her churning mind. "Besides," she said hotly, "Professor Cockleshell, and Grumby, and Evertrue, and the others—are they all wrong? Dash it, Remus! you're the best in the school at Defense and Creatures, and you'll be a rising authority someday, and he's missing the boat if he can't recognize that. I can't think of what possibly could have prejudiced him against you."

"I do not blame him… please, you don't have to turn against him just for me," Remus faltered, grateful for her indignation on his behalf but a bit bashful at her fervor.

He had cause to be thankful when the waitress whisked by with two menus and queried what they cared for to drink. Lily picked the first drink on the menu, a gooseberry and pumpkin juice emulsion, and Remus requested a chocolate milkshake. The elf pulled her face into a passably pleasant sort of grimace and with a slight nod went off to attend to their orders. Looking up from his menu, he saw that the interruption had not taken Lily's mind off the subject that nettled her, so said, genially, irresistibly, "Let's not talk about school when we only have four weeks of holiday left. How's your summer been?"

"So-so. Petunia went to Paris with her school friends and came back putting on French airs. I told her I'd turn her into escargot if she didn't cut it out--"

"Did she taunt you with expulsion?"

"Oh, she doesn't know anything about that!"

"Why not?"

"It's no fun otherwise! Well, all right, she knows we're _advised_ not to use magic unsupervised, but is totally in the dark about the Underage Magic Laws and everything."

"I don't suppose you will ever undeceive her?"

"Well," said Lily, a grin creeping over her face, "I turned seventeen a few weeks ago, so there's really no reason to."

"A belated Happy Birthday, by the way."

"Thank you; I got your owl; the card was lovely."

"I'm glad you liked it."

"The verse seemed a little bit wistful to me, though; are you really so sad?"

"Not sad," he said, with a shake of his head.

"I'm glad; I get a little worried for you sometimes, you can get a bit pensive, you know?"

"Maybe compared to Sirius and James."

"I'll grant you your point," she grinned.

"Have a nice birthday?"

"Oh, lovely. I didn't do a thing manually all day. It's great fun being legal."

"I know," he agreed. "_Mes enfant_."

"Oh, you're dreadful," she said, playfully hitting his sleeve. "Four months isn't anything to patronize about."

"Except that I have had a few months to get ahead of you."

"In your _fantasies_, Remus Lupin."

"I could give you a lesson or two in--" and the mischief-maker stopped short, thinking better of what he was about to say. Lily was a demanding little woman, however, and would not let him go so easily, even though she knew his only object was to rile her. "Well… I just thought that maybe you would prefer to have a friend's input instead of an instructor for… certain things…"

"Like what?"

She was determined to have her feathers ruffled, in that case. With a quiet _pop!_ Remus disappeared from sight, to materialize the next second with another faint noise, sporting a rather sheepish expression. Lily gasped, half amused and half annoyed, and cried merrily,

"What a despicable torment you are! _Who_ told you that?"

"James," said Remus. He had the grace to look thoroughly apologetic.

"_What_ did he say?" Her tone changed all at once to one low and threatening. She looked as though a thundercloud was looming over her head. It was an alarming transformation.

"Merely that you don't like the sensation and consequently have trouble with it."

"I defy him to say it's not uncomfortable, -- whatever he says, it _is,_" she said, piqued. "And what right does he have to blab, anyway?"

"It was Sirius' fault, if it comes down to that," said Remus, awkwardly. "James was not talking and Sirius set himself to extracting the truth from him."

"I believe he once proclaimed that he could fight Veritaserum to guard my affairs."

"But Sirius is worse than Veritaserum– he is!" Lily looked incredulous. "He has a brain! And he wheedled and teased and dug until he satisfied himself somehow that you don't Apparate. James was only defending you."

"He wouldn't have known if he hadn't barged in rudely where he wasn't wanted."

"Told me you wouldn't mind."

"Just because I _smiled_ at him when he said goodbye last year doesn't mean he's invited to my birthday party!"

"He thought he was beginning to grow on you."

This comment made the indignant damsel crack a sly smile which she quickly tried to cover; affecting a frosty air she said, "Well, I won't bother telling you about my birthday visit from him, since you're bound to know every minute detail."

"But I don't."

"Don't lie."

"Please? I have only seen James once since your birthday. I only know what he got you and how dreadfully he was snubbed. "

"Pooh. He brought me a ruby necklace; a family heirloom no doubt, something he had no business giving me."

"'Giving away is the best thing I know how to do,'" he said, quoting words of James', "and nothing is too good for those he—likes."

"He charmed it to me," she said, in the light tone that she sometimes took when annoyed. "I tried handing it back and it deflected off of him like an Imperturbable charm. Then I tried chucking the box out the window and the necklace bounced back through."

Remus stifled a laugh at her characteristic tactic and turned his attention back to the menu. There was an audible stir coming from the kitchen area and he fancied the drinks would be coming along shortly.

"What are you going to have?"

"I don't know," said Lily, following suit. The faintest crease formed above the bridge of her nose as she perused the rough menu. She wondered dimly how many thousands of hands the menu had passed through since the restaurant was founded two hundred years before. The paper was torn and wrinkly, thinning near the folds, and some of the selections had been worn almost entirely away.

"They have a new sandwich selection," commented Remus. A crisp sheet of paper was bonded magically to the inside fold and stuck out jauntily amidst its ancient fellows.

"Simply begging to be tried," she said, running her finger down the new list in search of a good meal. "Oh, look: a triple-game sandwich; you should try it."

"Venison, elk, and quail. Are you sure? A half-pound seems a bit excessive."

"Turning vegetarian on me, Remus?"

"Maybe more of a conscientious animal sympathizer," said Remus, enjoying the lark. Lily loved making Remus laugh; he seldom let himself get carried away, which was surprising, considering the company he kept.

"Well then, what about the triple-mustard? You like mustard, don't you?"

"I do," he said, quirking an eyebrow. He was of the opinion that condiment preference took the back seat to the stuffing where sandwiches were concerned. It seemed an odd recommendation, considering. "But I think I want something sweet."

"I'll make up your mind for you. Triple mustard it is."

"I don't like wolf-meat," he said, with an indefinable air of distaste. "I would even prefer watercress."

"There you go with your rarified tastes again," she said, notching an eyebrow exaggeratedly back. "You're a growing boy and need your protein."

The waitress was seen emerging from the kitchen, bearing a sizeable tray laden with two enormous goblets, one filled with a layered grayish-green and orange concoction, the other brimming over with chocolate and a mound of whipped cream. She balanced the tray with practiced ease and weaved her way gracefully through the labyrinth of chairs and feet, but deposited the goblets rather roughly before them. Lily noticed that she did not wear a nametag and debated with herself whether or not she deserved a generous tip.

"May I take your orders." Her voice was imperative rather than interrogative.

"I'll have the corned beef special," said Lily, making up her mind on the spot with the decisiveness and authority that came naturally to her. "And he," –pointing to Remus—"will have the triple mustard."

Remus shot her an annoyed look and amended, "Make it with turkey meat, please. I'll also have a Nutella melt. Thank you." Lily handed him her menu and he passed both to the waitress, who snatched them back brusquely. Remus nodded pleasantly at her. The menus folded themselves into nothingness and the waitress sent their order zooming off to the kitchen. Lily watched after her in dismay, shaking her head after a moment and having a taste of her drink. Remus's mind was engaged elsewhere. He took a sip of his own, eyes resting thoughtfully on the girl sitting opposite him. There was silence while they both drank, and then, "How's your father?"

Lily froze mid-sip and took a long moment or two before lowering her goblet. "Better." She lifted her napkin from her lap, ladylike, and dabbed her mouth with it. "Thank you—for asking. It was a misdiagnosis at first, you heard?"

Remus nodded. Lily went on.

"During the initial confusion, they thought it _more_ serious than it is…" She shook her head, ill-satisfied with her feeble explanation. Earnestly she appealed to his better --his clear-- comprehension, willing him to understand her. "It _is _serious but not without hope. Twelve months is better than twelve weeks, you know? And with a discrepancy like that, who's to say it won't be three years instead of one?"

"Take it a day at a time." Her eyes wavered for the first time under his sympathetic gaze.

"One foot in front of the other."

Abruptly Lily dropped her head and toyed with the trinkets at her wrist. Remus studied her face as she composed herself, thinking sadly how three two months of worry had already taken its toll on the girl he had come to care so much for. Normally her vivacity and humor blended irresistibly to compliment a pretty face and convivial disposition. She was as quick as ever, but smiled less, and there was a new gravity in her ways that was sad to see, like the death of childhood. Her hair fell down silkily about her face, half-veiling it from his view; he saw only her long, thick lashes against the curve of her creamy cheek. Her eyes were downcast and hidden from his study, but he knew them without seeing. Lily's eyes were like emeralds, sparkling with thought and laughter, always alive and inspiring life in the uninspired. Lily always made his heart feel full.

A companionable silence fell about them as they sipped their drinks, watching the lunch-hour crowds go by. Framed in the window, they lent them themselves unconsciously to a charming tableau of young life, and more than one passerby took them in with at least as much interest as they were taken in on the other side. A funny sight they were; one so formal, in his pressed pants and light sweater, with only the slight width of the collar poking out of the neckline to suggest any inner flare; the other so casual and colorful, in her breezy green top and flouncing knee-skirt, yet with her shamelessly red wedge heels crossed demurely at the ankle. Whenever a person of either's acquaintance passed, they would be duly identified and talked over; they had more mutual friends than either had ever taken time to realize; a broad circle of association in which a certain trio of Remus's friends were conspicuously absent.

Whenever Lily pointed out a friend of hers, the delicate bracelet at her wrist swung back and forth and reflected tiny specks of light across their faces. There was a charm on the bracelet for each one of her friends; Remus spotted his own near the clasp; an unopened puffapod seed he had found on the greenhouse ground in third year and given to her. She strung a piece of wire through it and linked it to the chain—a humble and rather homely piece dangling amongst the silver and crystal, he thought, though she loved it better than the rest for the thought that went into it. "We're such wonks, Remus," she had said then. "Only we would ever think a thing like this is special." James had more than once tried to induce her to accept a trinket of his own—a miniature snitch, a ruby heart— but she had thrown his charms to the lake to decorate the mermaids, instead. She never told James what the significance of the squat pink pod was, and Remus pretended to be oblivious to it, too.

Their conversation continued in much the same strain for the next half hour. Lily had many friends and many disappointed admirers and the magical community was out in full force today. The sandwiches were brought, Grace was said, and they enjoyed each other's company o'er their modest repast. It was always interesting to Remus to hear Lily's insights, for half-blood though he was, he had grown up in the magical world, whereas she had come into it only a few years before, and by her own avowal was still discovering new things every day. She talked at length of what a hurdle it had been to enter, as a child, into a new world on the brink of a war; how terrified she had been at first to learn of the strife she was set to inherit along with the enlightenment it afforded. She looked forward to their last year at Hogwarts with a mingling of immense excitement and extreme apprehension. She was determined to pass all her NEWTs with blaring accolades and was even toying with the idea of going into the Auror training— duty-bound in her own estimation to help fortify the ranks of the good. The terror seemed to daily escalate around them, and though she was anxious to join the brave heroes who every day tried to counter the swelling ranks of evil, it was terrifying to think of leaving Hogwarts, which sometimes seemed to be the last place in the Wizarding World where peace and safety still prevailed.

"There have been a couple times this summer where I've woken up in a cold sweat, dreaming about what happened to some of those people--"

"When I think of poor Amanda Lovejoy--"

"Yes, exactly, that's what started it!" said Lily. "I'll never forget that moment in Transfiguration where Professor McGonagall—told her the news."

"That pain is… unfathomable. I can't imagine losing my parents so young."

Lily nodded grimly, and, having already finished with her lunch and crossed fork and knife against each other on her plate, she twisted her napkin in her lap. Remus, carefully chewing a mouthful of turkey and mustard, could tell that she was pondering something weighty and difficult to convey.

"When I think about the future," she began, slowly, "I feel as though I'm fated to—to do something important. Not fated to, in that sense, but—responsible? We all have a responsibility towards our fellow people to help in some way. But I don't know _what _we're meant to do, and that scares me; because part of me knows that we're going to be an important part of all this, but the other part knows that I'm just Lily Evans. And even as I'm preparing to—to do what I can, I feel almost as though it can't be real. Like the first time I heard of Hogwarts and in the back of my mind thought of it as an enormous play that I got to master. I'm learning all these spells but it seems unreal that I'd ever have to use them. I can't see myself ever really doing so."

She laughed suddenly.

"What?" asked Remus. He had known Lily to blow hot and cold like a weathercock, but not about subjects so serious.

"Professor Twitchet told me once in Divination that all my children would have green eyes. No—I don't set any store by him," she said quickly, in response to Remus's raised eyebrows, "we all dropped his class first opportunity, didn't we? But what if that's all I'm destined for, really? I would be happy with a quiet life if that's what I'm meant to do. And the traitorous part of me thinks my biggest heroic will be childbirth—don't laugh. At the end of the day, I don't _want_ anything more than a safe home and the freedom to get on with life. I can compromise that if duty calls—but I _can't see _myself in any important role can't seem to reconcile those two in my mind."

"Perhaps there are small ways we can help everyday—homebound heroes are no less admirable than the ones in the front line. The ones who check the evil before it comes to fruition save as many lives as those who blight it in its prime. They can be reconciled as long as you're willing to work for it."

"True. Always reasonable, Lupin. I suppose you'll follow that philosophy post-graduation, eh? What are you going to do?"

"I've considered becoming a teacher."

"A teacher. Far too few want to take up that profession! You'd be a good one," she said, genuinely, appraisingly. "Just the right disposition. And you would teach by example, too, and show them the virtue of everyday goodness."

"You flatter me," he said, flushing; pleased though he was to hear her words, he hardly felt worthy of such praise.

"I'll stop," she said, amused, and then sighed. "You're right, though. If we can convince people to stay on our side, that's helping. Such a mountain of troubles the world has. And now with Voldemort's followers joining ranks—like the trolls—we need a resistance army. As if there weren't enough people doing wrong _before _Voldemort came—like what's his name—the werewolf—Fenrir Greyback-- terrorizing children of his own accord," she paused to peer solicitously into his face, for she had noticed the convulsive fisting of Remus's hand at the mention of the name. "Are you afraid of werewolves?" she asked, quite innocently.

"No," he said, but he thought she read the deeper truth veiled by the present one. He stared resolutely back into her beautiful green eyes and could all but see the gears whirring behind them as the brilliant mind connected dots and tried to construe what had been so carefully hidden. In her eyes he saw the flash of understanding, the instinctive recoiling as she arrived at the fearful conclusion. It was gone in an instant, but it hurt him.

"Neither am I," she said, with needless warmth and a comforting smile. Remus looked away, and she precipitately dropped the subject and talked of other cheerful things concerning mutual interests. Inwardly he thanked her for choosing not to dwell on the subject, though he half-expected her to ask him to confirm it. But Lily chattered on and let him finish his sandwich as though nothing had passed between them. She was being extraordinarily kind, but seemed unable to meet his eyes without that heartbreaking hint of uncertainty in them. When he pushed his plate away from him, his stomach felt strangely empty, and there was a knot in his heart.

Somewhere beneath the gratitude, around the surging affection, in the secret reserves of his soul, he felt wrung, bruised, and the well of tears, had he been alone, could have overflowed rebelliously at the memory of her shrinking gaze. Reason checked him, however, for he would not pain her; and how could he ask for greater magnanimity than this?

"Do I see _strawberries_ and _bananas_ in that sandwich?"

Remus smiled ruefully and Lily felt a twang of pity reverberate along her heartstrings. Yes, there were bananas and strawberries smothered somewhere beneath the blanket of glossy chocolate, though how she discerned them was a mystery to Remus.

"Care to split it?" he asked, adopting a tone as light as hers. Though it seemed an unseemly travesty to go into raptures about food after his important revelation, the chocolate was oozing out so temptingly that even the most focused of philosophers would find their thoughts distracted. He only had to look at it to know that it would do his spirit good, and he wanted a piece of that comfort.

"Thank you!" she breathed, as he handed her the bigger half. "My friends always laugh at me for liking this stuff so much."

"So do mine."

"It's a mixed blood taste; or Muggle, in my case."

"My Mum used to make these up for me when I wasn't feeling well," said Remus. He scraped what little had dripped from the sandwich from the plate and transferred it back onto the bread. "I could eat it by the spoonful when I was a kid."

"My dad's a perfect fiend for it."

Remus looked up, butter knife in one hand, bread in the other, and Lily saw that she had been right before, that he looked like something out of nature… "You must feed it to him by the jarful, then, and promise him there's more waiting for when he's well." He smiled, his hair falling a little into his eyes. He looked like a wolf, but without any malevolence. A slight shiver passed through her as she wondered how she had never noticed before. "Chocolate's a curative even for Muggles, you know."

Lily nodded and took another bite.

"My friends are due to arrive at any minute," said Remus, when the last decorative, sugar-glazed strawberry had been skewered from the plate on a toothpick and offered over to Lily. He glanced at his watch; it was ten minutes of one and his friends had said they would meet him at three-quarters past. He expected an appearance in approximately five minutes; he knew Sirius' watch ran ten minutes late, purposely left so so that he was always ensured an excuse for his larks. It was a comfort to be able to fall back on commonplaces.

"I guess I'll have to face James eventually," sighed Lily. "What a year it'll be."

"James is not all bad."

"No, he's gotten better, hasn't he?" said Lily fairly, drawing out her badge once more and pondering her reflection on it.

"He is a good person," said Remus simply. He had no patience left for the old, old quarrel. Six years was long enough to hold a grudge. High time the fortification was made to crack. "A wonderful friend."

Swiftly Lily pocketed her badge and stared at Remus as though seeing the situation in a whole new light. He felt his heart beat curiously slow but hard under her scrutiny; she was thinking of him, but thinking of him in terms of James.

"He is a good friend, isn't he? Loyal."

He tried to pretend that the comment made no reflection on his own experience of James' unalterable fidelity. "Gryffindor through and through. It even gets annoying at times. To be a Potter is to be a Gryffindor. They are raised to it and cannot think outside of it."

Lily seemed not to hear him, turning something else over in her mind. "He's been a faithful suitor, that's for sure. _Too_ persistent and daring. I'd like to be left in peace, I think. But there's no deterring him."

"Try him out and see for yourself, then," said Remus, evenly. "He is no bother when you don't let him bother you."

"It's not that easy," she protested.

"But it is," Remus insisted. "Make up your mind that he isn't so bad and you will begin to see that he isn't. I think he's funny, and I'm more of a stick in the mud than you are."

Lily grinned. "You don't fool anyone, Remus Lupin. You're as incorrigible as the rest."

Remus smiled. "No, I'm not."

"Sure you are. You're just better at hiding it." She reached over to ruffle his hair, just because it pleased her to see his fluffy locks all ajumble. He was too proper, Remus was. Though perhaps he had a better reason for it than many others. She respected him all the more for it, now, even if it was a little unnerving. She would not think of that just then.

"Do you really think he'll let me alone if I tell him to nicely?"

"He certainly will never let up until he gets at least as much."

"It's the one thing I _haven't_ tried," she laughed. "I guess it makes sense, though. A Potter _would_ challenge the scathing words and hold out for… a civil dismissal."

"That's right."

The silence that followed weighed down on Lily's composure for the first time in their relationship, and rested heavily too on Remus, for he sensed her discomfort. She played with her napkin and then, remembering herself, folded it neatly and returned it to the table, thanking him for the meal and his company.

"My pleasure, Lily. I'm the one indebted to you."

And then it was over. James and Sirius had come—like two princes, in their perfect robes, proud and gallant; they looked as though they had not a care in the world as they made their way against the flow of the crowd, happier than Remus knew how to be. Sirius was laughing about something and James was smirking widely. Evidently they had just arrived, for they were yet unburdened with packages and each carried a full sack of coins. It was only a matter of time before one of them spotted them in the window. Ten seconds, nine, and they were coming ever closer… six seconds, five, and they were just across the street, kicking up a trail of dust with the swagger that was now more habitual than prepense. Sirius stopped to read an advertisement in a crowded storefront window, James surveyed the crowd leisurely, his trademark smirk playing easily across his lips. Three, two, one, and Remus readied himself for the blow. It came in subdued fashion when Lily was seen; the guileless face lit up perceptibly, even from behind their screen and at a half-jump's distance. He stirred a step, then saw Remus, and instantly a shadow of doubt, confusion, clouded the clear hazel eyes.

"He's waving to you, Lily—he's going to come in." James had already disappeared from Sirius' side and the messy back of his head was seen ducking under the old awning. Remus heard the familiar emphatic voice greeting the lady in the receiving area.

"I think I will see him, after all," said Lily, resolutely, though she looked around for her parcels a bit distractedly.

"Why the change of heart?" said Remus, with a faint smile.

"He's not wearing his badge," she said, avoiding his eyes once more though an involuntary grin tugged at the corners of her mouth. She straightened up, having collected her things. "I doubt whether he'd have been able to resist showing off the last time I saw him."

She stood up and bid him goodbye—was he just imagining it, or was she excusing herself with unnecessary courtesy and undue haste? She had just reached the end of the aisle when James came bursting onto the scene; his eyes darted suspiciously to his friend, still seated at the little table in the corner, motionless and dejected. Remus shook his head; a needless gesture, as Lily had gained on James and chose that moment to proffer her hand with such cordiality that James quite forgot to be jealous of Remus. Indeed, he forgot entirely about his friend, and next minute was walking chummily side by side with the pretty Miss Evans through the crowded seats of the Alley. Remus watched them go from his seat at the window. They looked blithe and strong together as they bravely faced the flow of the tide, talking like old friends. It was a charming sight, particularly to the few who knew the long history that had been overcome to achieve it, so Remus committed it to memory in silence, not knowing whether his sensitive heart was gladdened or discouraged by the momentous display. Lily looked back at him and smiled; his spirits lifted momentarily, but dropped again when he saw her sidle, perhaps unconsciously, a step closer to James, as though for protection from… damaging feelings, if not physical danger.

It was just as well, Remus thought. If his purpose was to be the instrument in bringing his friends together, he could come to terms with that. At least his last chance had died before James was given his. She would not desert him; it was not that phantom doubt that induced this aching emptiness; there was no need to fear that. He had only hoped that when the day came where she was enlightened about his situation, she would… fail to react altogether. Assure him that nothing could possibly be changed, as his closest friends had done. Irrational expectation.

Their noisy little elven lass tripped past in her brightly colored stockings and emerald heels, slipping a bill noiselessly on to the table as she went. Remus looked at the receipt with unseeing eyes, but his trance was broken by a disruptive rapping at the window. A handsome boy with black hair, insolent grey eyes and a devil-may-care smile had his face level with Remus's and was beckoning to him energetically, pointing to Gambol and Japes and gesturing for him to follow. Remus nodded and watched his friend dart through the crowd and disappear into the jokeshop across the street. It seemed suddenly quite quiet and to his surprise Remus realized how tired he felt and how little heart he possessed to look at gags and trickbooks. Sacrifices could be made for the happiness of his friend, however. Remus regarded the bill once more and extracted two galleons from his pocket. The elf waitress reappeared to stash them in her tiny apron and remove the plates and glasses; he felt around in his pocket for a sickle or two to tip her with, but found only an extra galleon, which was accordingly offered and ungratefully accepted. Finally, Remus collected his packages from his right, folded his cloak over his arm, and stood to go. The tables around him had emptied and there was only the noise of a scraping chair and a sad sigh to disturb the post-lunch still. Remus thanked the lady at the front desk and exited, emerging into the din and bustle of Diagon Alley just as the old Gringotts' clock struck thirteen above them.

* * *

When Remus met Lily again in early September, they sat together in a dimly fire-lit corner of the Library and talked quietly and long about him and his condition and what it meant for their friendship. Lily openly confessed that the revelation had been an alarming one to her—one that upset her because of its ramifications in his life, and not in any way that it concerned _her_. There was no doubt of that anymore; she never wavered for a moment in that respect. In fact, she apologized for displaying even a hint of the trepidation she then felt; assured him that she was never a moment afraid of _him_, but of the disease that resided in him. Being confronted with a virulent illness in any close friend is an earth-shattering thing; she had to go away to gather her thoughts and could not speak of it until she knew what to say.

"It scared me, Remus. It hurt to be confronted with the intelligence of a thing so… so _sinister_ residing in _you_. You're so good. And I never foresaw it and was so little prepared to hear it. I kept a distance to spare myself the pain of losing you, if it was going to drive us apart—I didn't know what it meant, I didn't know how to help you, or if I even understood the half of it or knew half of what you really are. And then I realized that we couldn't let it win. And we won't let it win, will we?"

Ah, but she needn't have said anything. She only needed to understand that the condition would not change a thing; he had been fighting this battle longer than he had known her, and her knowledge of it would not effect any sudden change in his conduct. The wolf had no hold on him and was not going to drive him away from anybody. The disease's real potency lay in its power to sow doubt in the minds of friends and strangers; it was only ever fear and ignorance that was responsible for driving people away.

James understood this. Perhaps it was owing to James that now she did, too. As they chatted by the fireplace, bathed in the warm, caressing light, James's ruby and gold pendant hung 'round her neck and flickered in the flame.

**Fin.**

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**Author's Notes:** If you made it the whole way, Bless you! and I hope it wasn't a complete waste of time! Please, please, please take another moment and let me know what you thought. I'm new in the game so appreciate any comments. Thank you so much!


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